by Adele Clee
“I would have brought them here,” Christian continued, “but with the woman’s vibrant red hair she bore a striking resemblance to Cassandra.”
Rose gasped. Nicole? Were Oliver and Nicole the two people who’d escaped from Morton Manor?
Christian stopped and turned to face her. “Is something wrong? Your face is deathly pale.”
She clutched her throat. Her father was dead! She blinked back tears of sadness, of regret. Now it was too late for him to make amends. Now his last cruel act would forever define their relationship.
“Christian,” she whispered as a black cloud descended to obscure her vision. And then she crumpled to the ground, sucked into a dark oblivion.
Chapter Twelve
“Heaven save us, my lord. What on earth happened?” Mrs Hibbet rushed to his side, her frantic gaze scouring Rose’s face and body as Christian held her in his arms. “Was it the fire? Is it the dreaded illness?”
“I’ve no idea.” Panic grabbed him by the throat leaving him barely able to breathe. He came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the grand staircase. “One minute we were discussing the fire, the next her legs gave way, and she fell to the ground.”
Mrs Hibbet touched Rose’s head. “There’s no evidence of a fever. She feels cold and clammy. If this is the start of the sickness, we can’t risk anyone else catching it.”
“There’s every likelihood she’s caught a chill.” Hell, Jacob had pushed her into a lake, and she'd swallowed a mouthful of murky water. She’d raced into the woods without a coat or shawl and inhaled the thick smoke, only for a deranged lord to attack her in a case of mistaken identity. “Perhaps the events of the day proved too much for her.”
“Still, we should move her to the servants’ quarters as a precaution.”
Everyone who slept below stairs had suffered from ill effects on more than one occasion. “No. The governesses here have never been ill. We’ll take her up to her room.” He bit back a groan as he considered carrying her up the stairs.
“Beg your pardon, my lord, but a governess never stays long enough to contract the illness.”
Mrs Hibbet had a point. As such, they’d never found cause to search that particular room. “Send Joseph or Dawkins to The Talbot Inn and ask Dr Taylor to call here on his way back to Abberton.”
“I’ll see to it at once, my lord. Poor girl, she should have drunk the tincture as the doctor ordered.” Mrs Hibbet scurried off along the corridor, muttering to herself as she went.
Christian mounted the stairs. Rose’s petite frame made the task less arduous. The door to her room stood ajar, and he kicked it open and placed her gently on the bed.
“Rose.” Christian perched on the edge of the bed, stroked her cheek and checked beneath her lids in an effort to wake her. “Rose. Can you hear me?”
A faint moan escaped from her lips, and her eyes fluttered although she didn’t open them straight away.
He sat patiently waiting. What else could he do other than hold her hand and whisper words of encouragement? Releasing a weary sigh, he pushed his hand through his hair.
Morton Manor was not the only accursed house in the parish. Everyone who dared set foot in Everleigh suffered in one form or other. Perhaps he should move away, take the children to London, at least for the time being. Perhaps he should give the reverend and Dr Taylor free rein to inspect every blasted corner of the house.
A weak moan drew his attention to Rose. Beneath her closed lids, he could see a sign of activity. Her body jerked as her breath came quick.
“Get out of here. Go before it’s too late.” Her muttered ramblings were barely coherent. “Fire … fire at the … the manor.”
“Rose.” Patting her hand helped as she opened her eyes once and then squeezed them shut. “You’re safe. You’re at Everleigh. We’re waiting for Dr Taylor.”
Her eyes flickered, and she opened them again. Thin cornflower-blue irises rimmed dilated pupils. She stared through him as if watching a terrifying scene unfold.
“Wake up, Rose.” With a gentle hand, he stroked her brow.
At the touch of his fingers, she sucked in a ragged breath. “Christian?” She scanned the room, her gaze coming to settle on him. A weak smile touched her lips. “I’m at Everleigh. Thank heavens.” Her breathing settled, and she exhaled slowly.
“I think the horrendous events of the day have taken their toll.” No wonder every newcomer stayed no more than a week. “Dr Taylor will be along presently. Mrs Hibbet fears you’ve contracted the fever.”
She glanced at the tiny brown bottle on her night stand. “No. If anything, I feel cold to my bones.”
“No doubt the dip in the lake, coupled with the cold night air, has given you a chill. A nip of brandy will work wonders if you’re able to stomach it.”
Rose nodded. “I need something to settle my nerves, although I’m not sure that will help the pounding in my head.”
A light knock on the door brought Mrs Hibbet. His housekeeper hovered at the threshold. “Can you spare a moment, my lord?”
From her grave expression, it was evident she had important news to impart. God, he hoped the woman at The Talbot Inn hadn’t taken a turn for the worse. He turned to Rose. “I’ll be back in a moment with a glass of brandy.”
Once out in the hall, Mrs Hibbet pulled the door closed. “I sent Dawkins to the inn to fetch Dr Taylor,” she whispered. “He said someone’s been asking after Rose.”
Christian jerked his head back. “Someone? Who? What did they say?” Was it that lunatic from the woods? If so, he’d get more than a punch on the jaw.
“Well, the fellow never used her name, but he was looking for a slender woman with golden hair. A pretty thing, he said.” Mrs Hibbet glanced at the closed door. “He said she’s been missing from the area for a few days.”
“Was it one of the staff from Morton Manor?” The earl must have sent a man out looking for the missing maid. Or was Rose’s dissolute brother in need of funds and somehow knew she’d taken work with a wealthy lord?
“No, he’d not come from the manor. But Dawkins said the fellow knew his way around a stable.”
“I trust Dawkins said nothing about Rose.”
“No, my lord. Dawkins knows not to speak to strangers about household business.”
There was one saving grace in this whole debacle. His staff were loyal to a fault. “Leave it with me. If the man should call again, direct him to the house.”
Perhaps the earl knew Rose had arrived on the mail coach, had heard talk of the mysterious deaths in the woods and feared for his servant. While people knew Miss Stoneway was a wealthy orphan driven insane by the death of her parents, a few feared foul play.
By rights, he should speak to Lord Stanton and explain the situation. But what was the point? After the fire, the earl had no use for a maid. No doubt his only thoughts were for the health and happiness of his mistress.
“Will you remain here, my lord?”
“For the time being.”
“What shall I do when the doctor arrives?”
“Send for me at once.”
Mrs Hibbet nodded and moved towards the stairs.
“Could you have a decanter of brandy and two glasses sent up to Rose’s room?” They both needed a drink. His day had been just as taxing. God damn. If only Jacob had told him about the letters. Then he might have understood the reason behind his son’s malicious antics.
Everyone leaves us?
Those words had blown a hole clean through his heart. Yes, Cassandra always left, didn’t give a damn about anyone but herself. But the governesses left because Jacob drove them away. A saint would struggle to forgive some of the terrible things the boy had done.
And yet Rose had taken it all in her stride. Not once had she blamed his son. Never had he met a woman with such a kind heart. Indeed, her inner beauty enhanced her appeal. Appeal was a mild word for what he felt. By God, he couldn’t get the woman out of his mind. She stirred something in him, something deep
inside, something long forgotten.
Truth be told, he needed her. She made his world of chaos a bearable place. Even the children behaved differently around her. He’d known from the first glance she was special. He’d felt drawn to her, to her smile, to the sound of her voice. And her lips, heaven help him. From his experiences in his youth, he thought he knew passion. But those fleeting dalliances were nothing compared to the powerful tremors that wracked his body when he was with her.
And yet he could not shake the feeling that their time together would soon be at an end. Was he as pessimistic as his son? Was Mrs Hibbet right? Had the Lord sent an angel to help them through troubled waters, to steer them to calmer, safer shores?
Did his son have a point?
Did everyone leave in the end?
Chapter Thirteen
Slivers of sunlight touched her cheek, warming her skin. Rose opened her eyes although the morning sun brought with it an overwhelming sense of trepidation. What must Christian think of her? Only simpering debutantes swooned.
But sometimes the body knew better than the mind when dealing with shocking news. Sleep had been the only way to banish thoughts of her father’s death. Any hopes of repairing their fractured relationship were gone. She would be forever the daughter of some other gentleman, even though her father lied about her mother’s infidelity out of spite and jealousy. And her father would always be the cold-hearted devil who’d imprisoned her in an old asylum as a means of control.
But she could not dwell on that now. Oliver had come home to claim his rightful place as head of the family. No doubt he’d dismissed Stokes and Mrs Gripes as soon as he’d heard about her mistreatment. And by all accounts, he’d rescued Nicole, too.
The chamber door creaked open, and Mrs Hibbet entered carrying a jug. She tottered over to the wash stand and filled the bowl with clean water.
When the housekeeper turned to the bed, she gasped. “Oh, bless us and save us. I almost dropped the jug. You’re awake.”
Rose stifled a yawn. “Forgive me. I should have got up to help with the chores. What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
“Nine!” Rose pulled back the bedcovers ready to jump out.
Mrs Hibbet plonked the jug on the washstand, rushed to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Rest, dear. His lordship isn’t expecting you in the nursery today. The fall in the lake gave you a nasty chill. Best give it another day before you return to work.”
“But you don’t have enough—”
“We’ll manage.” With a gentle push, Mrs Hibbet forced her to lie down. “We’ve been muddling along for two years. One more day won’t hurt. And no doubt the doctor will want to see you again.”
Again? She had no recollection of seeing him the first time.
A frustrated sigh left Mrs Hibbet’s lips. “Reverend Wilmslow thinks you’ve got the dreaded fever and insisted on searching your room. Something to do with plants and spores from the Indies, although I fear he’s been downing his lordship’s port again. I might be simple when it comes to science, but it sounds like poppycock to me.”
“Search my room?” Rose shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. “And why would the reverend need to do that?”
Mrs Hibbet straightened the sheets and tucked them around Rose’s shoulders. “Oh, he thinks the illness is spread by contact with a poisonous plant. Maybe he should spend his time looking for a cure for restless hands instead of poking his nose into other folks’ affairs.”
Rose grasped Mrs Hibbet’s sleeve. “Don’t let the reverend in here. And whatever you do, don’t leave me alone with him.” Her apprehension stemmed from more than a concern over the reverend’s over-friendly nature. Something was amiss. She just didn’t know what.
“Have no fear.” Mrs Hibbet smiled. “Both the reverend and the doctor felt the sharp edge of his lordship’s tongue. Never in all my years have I heard him shout so loud, not with the children in the house.” She gave a satisfied sigh. “I doubt you’ll see the reverend here again until he’s desperate enough to come begging for funds.”
“What made Lord Farleigh so angry?” He was clearly a man of strong passions, in every sense of the word. One punch had taken the insane fool in the woods clean off his feet. One heated kiss had made her legs buckle, too.
“He said he’s tired of people prying into his affairs. Said he’ll deal with the matter in his own way, in a manner he sees fit.” Mrs Hibbet’s face beamed with pride. “Oh, he reminded me of how he used to be, before …” She paused and shook her head. “Well, when he was a younger man with the world at his feet.”
A few days ago, it would have been difficult to imagine Lord Farleigh as anything other than a man absorbed with his own problems. But when they were alone, when he kissed her so deeply her stomach flipped, then she caught a glimpse of the carefree gentleman. The man who held her spellbound. The man who made her heart sing.
“I’ve seen a lot more of that man lately,” Mrs Hibbet said. “Happen it comes from having someone young around. Someone educated enough to converse with him on his level.”
Oh, what was she to do?
She felt like two people fighting to claim the same body. On the one hand, she enjoyed playing governess to the children, enjoyed the relationship she shared with Mrs Hibbet. But she had not seen her brother for two years, had feared she’d never see Nicole again. And now they were staying at The Talbot Inn, in heaven knows what state after escaping the fire.
If the battle between being simply Rose or Lady Rose Darby was not enough to contend with, now she had an added complication. In moments of fanciful musings, she imagined herself in love with Lord Farleigh. She imagined herself as mistress of Everleigh, sipping port with him in front of the fire on cold winter nights, indulging in far more than salacious kisses.
“It’s nice to see him smile again after all that trouble at the manor.” Mrs Hibbet’s comment dragged Rose from her reverie. “Happen it will all change again if you leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere just yet.” Rose gave a weak chuckle merely to mask the lie that had fallen easily from her lips. She had to go to The Talbot Inn. How could she not visit Oliver and Nicole?
“That’s what Dr Taylor said. You’re not to go anywhere but your bed.” Mrs Hibbet put her hand to her chest. “Now there’s a man committed to his work. He was backwards and forwards between here and The Talbot Inn all day yesterday. Thanks to him that poor girl from the manor will be right as rain in a day or two.”
“Yesterday? But the fire was last night.”
“Last night?” Mrs Hibbet frowned. “No, dear. You slept the whole day yesterday. Dr Taylor came and examined you, although his lordship insisted I was present for the most part. Oh, you won’t remember. You didn’t open your eyes once. Dr Taylor said the body knows when it needs to heal.” She caught her breath. “He wanted you to drink the tonic, but the bottle was already empty.”
Empty?
Rose’s gaze shot to the night stand. The brown bottle stood in the same place. Perhaps she had downed the contents. She slowed her breathing, paused and reflected as to whether she felt different. No. If anything, the restorative had given her a new lease of energy.
But to miss one whole day?
“I should get up. I can’t stay in bed.” Rose kicked the coverlet off before Mrs Hibbet could protest, and swung her legs to the floor. “Besides, after breathing in so much smoke, I could do with a stroll outdoors.”
Mrs Hibbet put her hands on her hips. “Bed is the best place for you, dear.”
“Please, Mrs Hibbet.” After spending six months locked in the manor, the last thing she wanted was to remain indoors. “I don’t want to be cooped up in here, not today.”
“Oh, the doctor will be none too happy when he hears about it.” The woman sighed. “But I suppose a walk won’t do you any harm.”
Rose jumped up and clutched Mrs Hibbet’s hands. “Thank you.”
“Mind you wear a cloak now. And keep out of t
he woods. His lordship’s ridden to Abberton and won’t be back for an hour or more.”
“An hour is all I need.” Then again, it would take thirty minutes walking at a fast pace to get to The Talbot Inn.
“Mind you get back before his lordship. Else I’ve no choice but to tell him you’ve gone.”
The journey to The Talbot Inn took a little longer than Rose expected. By the time she reached the cobbled courtyard she’d rubbed another blister on her toe. Still, the slight tingling was overshadowed by the pounding of her heart. During the last two years, she’d dreamed of seeing her brother again, of ruffling his ebony locks and hugging him until he could hardly breathe. A thousand miles had stood between her and her dream. Now, the only thing preventing a reunion was an oak door and a flight of stairs.
But the sudden rush of excitement gave way to doubt.
It mattered not that a patron might recognise her, not with Oliver in residence. And yet something stopped her stepping forward. She stared up at the inn’s stone facade, could almost feel her brother’s presence behind the leaded glass window.
Realisation dawned.
If she entered the building, there were only two possible outcomes. Oliver would take her home to London, so pleased to see her that he’d not care where she’d been the last few days. Or he would insist on hearing her tale. Demand Lord Farleigh offer marriage.
But what if she went back to Everleigh and hid there for a few more days? No one knew her identity. No one cared for a maid’s reputation. And it would give her more time with Christian. Help her make sense of the strange fluttering in her heart whenever he came near.
She paced back and forth, tapping her fingers on her lips, hoping it would help her reach a decision.
An image of Christian flooded her vision. He sat slumped in the chair, his head buried in his hands as he tried to make sense of her lies and deceit. At some point, she would have to tell him the truth. Was it not better to hear it from her lips? Did the children not need an explanation, too?